


In A Matter of A Moment

by itsadastraperaspera



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (mild), Coronavirus, Gen, Human AU, Thought Spirals, a good amount of cursing, purely and simply this is a vent, quarantine sucks yall, that's really all i've got to say about that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27496945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsadastraperaspera/pseuds/itsadastraperaspera
Summary: In a matter of a moment, Logan's week changes drastically.Otherwise known as: Being the one who was in contact with another student that had COVID sucks. 0/10 do not recommend.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 15





	In A Matter of A Moment

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in a fit of anger, to be frank. I'm really, honestly, doing a lot better than I thought I would.  
> But, you know, any opportunity to take my emotions and force them upon Logan, I'm legally required to take it.

Logan was in his last bell of the day when the PA system crackled to life.

He recognized the voice, dismissed it easily as afternoon announcements, and went back to the last question on his quiz:

_Scribe Anglice “mulsum”._

Honey wine. Simple. A Latin I student could do it.

He tuned back into reality.

“…and can the following students please report to the main office after the bell rings:….”

Well, that wasn’t good. Being called directly down instead of receiving an email meant there was a mass quarantine order in place. He registered it vaguely, listening to the droning voice, but didn’t take in any of the names.

“…Emile Picani, Logan Sanders…”

A dull roar erupted in his ears. He suddenly felt lightheaded. Surely that was a mistake--?

“Ooh, someone’s in trou-ble,” one of his classmates, Remy, teased lightly, knowing full well what it meant. Logan had no time to respond before another name stood out from the rest.

“….Remy Villimagne, and Teagan White.”

Logan arched a brow without any emotion behind it at Remy, who turned the color of skim milk.

The bell rang.

Logan collected his textbook and leaned over to grab Remy’s, setting them aside on an unused desk. He called out quietly to the teacher and explained that he had separated them deliberately, then packed his things and moved to the door with all the awareness of a comatose man, Remy trailing behind.

His footsteps punctuated his thoughts.

Math test tomorrow.

Step.

Tech week.

Step.

Four scheduled shifts in the next seven days.

Step.

A doctor’s appointment that afternoon.

Step.

A house full of immunocompromised family.

Step.

Steps and thoughts and a spiral—no, not a spiral. He could hardly afford that at the moment.

Someone had to call his manager.

Someone had to cancel his appointments.

Someone had to tell his mother—shit, his mother.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, nearly fumbling it with shaking hands. Not bothering to type given the situation, he summoned Siri and had her call the number. He stepped foot in the office.

Illogical, to call her that moment. Shit. He hung up quickly.

“Mr. Sanders?” The receptionist looked at him, motioning for him to step further. He nodded, then shook his head minutely. He shouldn’t come closer, anyways.

“Okay, you came into contact with a student who tested positive this morning. You’re being put into virtual learning until the seventeenth, and…”

He listened numbly, the roar growing louder in his ears.

Call his mother. Call his manager. Call his doctor’s office. Call his barber. Shit, shit, shit, shit.

A tear threatened to spill over. The receptionist dismissed him and moved to tell the next student.

He left the office, head low, and walked to the stairs, his ever-growing to-do list a mantra and a drumbeat.

Call his mother. Call his manager. Call his doctor’s office. Call his barber. Talk to Roman. Talk to the director. Pick up textbooks. Make sure he grabbed his coat. Clean out his locker. Give Patton his dance shoes. Get out the door. Don’t talk to anyone. Stay away. Make it to the car, Logan, just make it to the fucking—

His phone rang. His mother. His fingers felt like they were someone else’s—he usually had much better control over them.

“Okay, so I assume you know?”

“I just… I just got out of the office.”

“Okay. I already called the doctor.” One less thing on his list, at least. “I’m scheduling a test with your pediatrician as soon as I’m off.”

“I have to call Brian. Shi—I mean, shoot, I have to call work. I can’t come in.”

“You do that. I’ll call the doctor.”

She hung up. Logan—quite against where he thought he was—was standing at the door of his car.

He barely recalled putting his bag in the back and collapsing in the driver’s seat. He turned the car on—accessory mode, he couldn’t handle a stall right now—and rolled down the windows. It was gorgeous out; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and it was unseasonably warm for an Ohio November.

He called once—call failed. Damn the service in the parking lot.

He called again, and let it ring.

Brian. “Hey, Lo, what’s up man?”

Logan wasted no time with pleasantries. There were only a few moments until he lost it, and he needed to know if one _fucking_ thing could maintain normalcy—it was illogical. Stupid. Irresponsible. But he needed to know, anyway— “I’ve been exposed. Do I have to have a positive test result to call off?”

Brian exhaled loudly. “Shit, um—I’m on a ladder, hold on. I don’t—I’m not sure, Logan. I’d have to ask Missy. I don’t—you said you’ve just been exposed?”

“I’m required by my school to quarantine. Does this apply to company policy, or not?”

“I—fuck, Logan, we haven’t had a potential case at this store, I’m not sure. I’ll text Missy, see what she says. Get a test anyway, it’s a few days until your next shift.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

A quick text to his mother, and he threw the car into reverse, flipping the key to turn the engine on.

Press the Bluetooth once, let whatever was on play. Sunroof down. Crank the volume. Don’t think about it.

“….’Cause today’s gonna be my day…”

The first hiccup came before he even turned the corner out of the school driveway.

_Wait. Don’t do this now. It’s not safe to drive. Twenty minutes, just get home._

It came in waves, as he collected himself and then something else pushed him over.

_I’m fine._

He thought vaguely of the Dunkin’ employee he spoke to yesterday. Was she okay?

_I’m fine._

Online learning for a week.

_I’m fine._

Missing the last in-person week of tech.

_I’m fine._

Living out of his room.

_I’m fine._

Just like fourth quarter, all over again.

_I’m not fine._

The first tear rolled down his cheek as the first intersection’s light turned green.

_Dammit._

He rolled into the driveway, parking with more precision than normal—he wouldn’t be leaving for a while, anyway.

A text, from Brian, as he picked his phone up out of the cupholder.

_Two weeks’ mandatory quarantine from work. We’ll cover your shifts._

**_Dammit._ **

He slipped a mask on and reached for the handle of the front door, only for it to move before him.

His mother, so accustomed to giving him a quick hug, gave him a wide berth.

“We took Patton’s stuff out of the bathroom you use. There’s Lysol in there, you’re responsible for wiping it all down. I cleaned the doorknobs. The doctor said you should keep to your room, I already put your vitamins in there and added the D3 and C vitamins to your dailies. Um—I can sit outside your window, if you want?”

Logan stifled a sob. “No, I’m—I’m fine. I’m just…tired.”

“Okay. Your test is tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He closed his door.

In someone else’s simple decision to go somewhere, do something, meet someone, they wrecked his week. In a matter of a moment, everything he clung to, everything that kept him afloat in a year that screamed and pelted him with hate—gone. He could scream. He _did_ scream. Screamed into a pillow, screamed out of rage and sorrow and frustration and every emotion he pushed down so harshly for seven months, seven months of being _safe_ and staying inside, and the _one_ place he felt truly safe in a group was the one to screw him over. Of course.

The screams turned to sobs, and the sobs to miniscule noises of complaint. He curled around his pillow, and he didn’t move again until they brought him dinner.


End file.
